Die Erliking
by pedal
Summary: The Elven King aka Death Based off an old folk poem. You need not know the poem to read this fic it's the same story with Heiji, Conan, and...Shinichi? in the lead roles. Not slashy! Oneshot


1Written: June 2006

Disclaimer: I'd be able to buy a better word processor if I owned DC. Same deal with the plot idea.

Author's Note: Based on "Die Erlking" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Dedication: To Franz Shubert, who brought "Die Erlking" to life through his music.

Die Erlking

by Pedal

Heiji clutched Conan against his chest, trying to focus on the thunder from his motorcycle rather than that of the sky. The visor on the child's helmet flipped up again from the wind and old age, and Heiji snapped it down for the millionth time. All they needed to do was get home, back to the agency to put the kid in bed. And Ran was expecting them; there was no reason to worry her any more than they had.

If only the storm would let up; both of them were soaked to the soul from the near freezing rain. Another vicious peal of thunder and Heiji pulled back, accelerating harder. The visor flipped up again. Still blood from his mouth, his eyes. "Dammit Kudou," whimpered Heiji, wiping at the child's face with a dripping sleeve. Transforming was getting tougher on the boy every time, it seemed.

"There's... someone there. He won't..." Conan's voice gurgled into a moan of pain. The last whisper went unheard; "Go away."

The dark gathered Conan in it, stroking his head and cupping his face. It beckoned him and offered him mental sparks, images of Ran. And of himself.

"Hattori," he croaked, "Can you see it? It's... me. Big me. And Ran. Where—"

"Shh, that's the fog and mist the rain's kicking up. That's all it is," explained Heiji pathetically.

"Come on," Conan heard in his original voice, strong arms reaching out to him. "Come on, you can be yourself now. Go back to Ran and hold her like you want to. Just come with me." The hiss of the rain around him went unheard, the cold unnoticed.

"Can't you—" A grunt of pain, "Can't you hear that, Hattori? Someone's got my bowtie... Someone's following us." He sucked in a breath of the dense air sharply.

"It's the storm, Kudou!" Heiji snapped down the visor of the helmet again. His shook harder with each word. "The thunder's going, and rain's hitting the buildings. There's nothing there; you're sick!" His free arm held Conan tighter than ever, as much as he could without hurting the broken child.

"It's safe here, comfortable. You can rest here, and Ran will take care of you," purred Shinichi, holding Conan's shoulders and rubbing them up and down. It was warm. "I know you want to rest. You need it, don't you?" Then the hands pressed in, fingers digging into Conan's flesh and summoning blood again from his eyes and ears.

"It's me. I can see myself, the smug bastard!" said Conan, a hysterical laugh escaping him. And then, "Get him off me, Hattori!"

"It's the trees, Kudou. The trees are getting whipped around by the storm, that's all," tried Heiji desperately. "You're just seeing things."

"Stop the damn bike," a sharp cough cut him off this time, blood spattering the plexiglass shielding his face. He flipped it up himself. "Hattori! Hattori, he's hurting me! They've got me! Stop so we can fight them off!"

Back down the visor went. "Hold on, Kudou!" cried Heiji, teeth gritting in fear. They were almost there, almost safe. He could take Conan inside the agency so they both could rest. Ran would make soup for both of them and nurse Conan back to health. It would all be okay soon. "Just wait a little bit longer. We're almost there. Just wait," begged Heiji, twisting the bike's handle as far as it would go.

In a few more minutes, they were in front of the Mouri residence. Only seconds after the motorcycle's roaring died, Ran was at the doorway to the building with no umbrella. Her face was painted with relief.

Heiji carefully rolled the bike under the awning of the building and removed first his, then Conan's helmet. He had finally quieted down. Blood trailed faintly from his eyes, and an even thinner stream from his mouth. The flow seemed to have stopped. Shifting Conan to sit his limp form against one arm, Heiji felt the boy's forehead, then neck.

Slowly, he looked back to Ran, who screamed when she saw Heiji's terrified eyes.


End file.
